BLORE

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I'm looking for a word I can't find.

So's I call Merriam Webster.

"Merriam," I says. "I need a word for blogging whore."

"I don't think there is one LOBO," says Merriam.

"Well that's pretty shoddy work on your part," I says. "You people need to get with us here in the Twentieth Centurion. We got computers nowadays, and people are whoring their blogs on them."

"I suppose you're right," concedes Merriam. "Any ideas?"

"Well, I'm kinda partial to blore."

"Huh. I like it. It's a noun and a verb."

"Can it have a picture of me in the definition?"

"Do you think you qualify?"

"Do I ever! Humor Bloggers, Alltop, Entrecard ... you name it, I'm bloring on it."

"You're on Humor-Blogs too, right?"

"Oh man it should be illegal how much bloring I do on Humor-Blogs. 'Cept Diesel keeps busting it. He calls it 'upgrading'."

"Should I send him a copy of my book?"

"Nah. Between conquering the internet, writing, his job, building a house, kids, wife, et cetera he'd never read it. He's one of those, ah ... Hey, what's a word for 'somebody that's always doin stuff'?"

"Busy?"

"Yeah. He's like really, really busy. Which is probably why he made the site faster."

"I thought you said he busted it."

"I said upgraded. Jeez Merriam ... those two words don't mean anything like each other. I thought you wrote them big thick books with all the alphabetized words and definitions."

"You mean Dictionaries?"

"I dunno. I have a dresser with a broken leg and the corner it props up covers the title almost entirely. You're probably right. It ends with a 'Y', but I don't think there's a book that indexes words by their last letter yet. Hey ... isn't that discrimination against people with dyslexia?"

"Before we get too far off-track, is there anything else you can tell me about blores such as yourself?" asks Merriam. "I'm taking notes here so don't go too fast."

"Well," I says, thinking. "We don't take criticism very well."

"Really."

"Yeah. Like about my last post, this dude damonkappas said 'That's too much to read. Your post wanders all over the highway like a 76 ford pickup with a broken axle. Focus man, focus!'"

"How did that make you feel?"

"I don't know really. I found a quarter after that. And then while watching television I got hungry so I drove to Wal-Mart and bought some pants."

"You got hungry so you bought pants at Wal-Mart?"

"Well I needed something with pockets to put the quarter in."

"How is your election coming along?"

"Eh, I dunno." I shrug. "I don't really follow politics. I figure John Nobody will let me know one way or another."

"What will you do if you two win?"

"You mean besides have the Secret Service wax damonkappas?"

"Yes."

"And rubbing it good and merciless in Don Lewis' face until the end of time?"

"Yes."

"Never thought about it."

"Really?"

"Well the President isn't the guy that puts up a stop sign so's playing kids don't get hit by cars. Or get your street's potholes fixed. Or opens an art museum in your neighborhood. All the real important stuff in people's day-to-day lives is handled at a far more local level; I'll bet you a dollar 4/5ths of the people voting on Election Day couldn't name three people on their own City Council."

"Maybe you should change all that," says Merriam.

"You mean become, like, The Pothole Party?"

"Eh ... "

"Waaay too much work. Plus pot is illegal ... all I would get is a very smooth drive to the state pen and maybe a case of "the munchies." No, at this level people don't want anything effectual at all. Effects tend to have consequences. John and I have far too much at stake to risk having any consequences whatsoever."

"Why bother then?" asks Merriam.

"Because the risk of Don Lewis winning is far too horrifying. Rather than talking to the people in meaningless and endless reassuring circles, Don Lewis would doubtlessly see some important issue and impudently do something about it. Then, BOOM! Consequences. John Nobody and I are twice as ineffectual as Don Lewis. There will be no consequences while we are in Office."

"I see."

"So does my new word go in the dictionary?"

"Based on your logic, wouldn't having an effect on the American lexicon jeopardize your election?"

"Damn, you're right!" I pause for a second. "What if we said it was Don Lewis' idea?"

Hey This Shinola Smells Like Crap

Predator Press

[LOBO]


I don't know what I'm more excited about -the move to California or the nod as John Nobody's Vice Presidential running mate.

At first I figured I should prioritize the up-and-coming election. You know, start making up the policies and so forth I would be pretending to stick to?

But then I found out Don Lewis went to Oregon.

On purpose.

-Man, this election is going to be a piece of cake.


***

So about the trip. This post -like the last one- is kinda hastily slapped together. Before we left, Comcast was kind enough to turn our services off a day early. Rendered wholly unable to use the phone and pay off the bill with my VISA due to this, I considered the remaining balance as a 'going away present' and spent the entire $200 frivolously on postcards and snowglobes from obscure locations across continental LOBOnia.

Thanks Comcast! I would send you this snowglobe of Twentynine Palms, but you would probably break that too.

Now safely on the "other side," we find ourselves hanging by a tenuous fingernail with internet connectivity once again. We are staying with Terri's relatives, and Terri's relatives are Mac users.

But do not judge Terri's woefully uniformed Mac-using relatives too harshly! Remember we are mooching heavily from these people; this is no time to point out their laughable choice of a clearly inferior so-called "operating" system.

Nay, this is a time where patient understanding and tolerance of their quaint eccentricities and dumb misguided boobery must be respected and embraced as our own.

For today, Terri and I shall be respectful of this pagan foolishness. But once we figure out these weird and counter-intuitive Mac network configurations, we will surely inform them of their colossal technological blunders and mournful misgivings: !!!Whammo!!! -The mighty oak tree of TRUTH will come a-callin', right upside the head.


***

As far as the contiguous parts of our great nation of LOBOnia, let me first point out I had no idea how big it is. It's too big. I mean it took like fifty gallons of gas to get accross it!

I'm going to level with you: I don't need this much space.

Plus I need some quick cash.

Does anyone know if any countries might be interested in shelling out a few hundred bucks for the east side of it? I'm not there anymore, and therefore there can't be a while lot going on. It does hold some sentimental value, but still I seriously doubt it would be missed.

The best current offer is from a fun-loving scrubby-looking group of guys called "The Taliban": on the table is four cows, six virgins and 500 free hours on AOL.

While this appeared to be a tempting offer at first, it turns out that four of the six virgins were actually the cows anyway, and the remaining two virgins were hippopotamus women with unkempt toenails that extended waaay beyond their sandals.

All damn day I heard nothing but clackitty-clicketty-clack against the linoleum, and the occasional mournful wail when one periodically snagged in the shag carpet.

Ultimately I'll probably turn "The Taliban" down.

How could I possibly allow beloved Pianosa I's shag carpet be reduced to bloodied tufts as such?

Besides, their music sucks.


***

Anyways, I do miss Pianosa I. The full weight of emotions didn't fully hit until the morning we arrived here at Pianos II -my tiny black heart collapsed into a singularity and exploded.

-Well, it kinda coughed for a second. If you look closely, there's a stress fracture in the left ventricle. I'm almost sure it's permanent too.

But Terri did this for me a year and a half ago. She sold and gave away everything, told her family goodbye, and "followed her heart" with only me to rely on.

Would you cross a woman that crazy?

LOBOnian Marines, Air Force Flex Military Muscle

Predator Press

[Associated Press]

In order to prevent what was labeled as a 'false sense of security' due to LOBO’s departure, LOBOnian officials have released footage of secret military exercises designed to scare Pianosa I into "keeping their shit together or else."

“Under LOBOnian leadership, Pianosa I is now recognized as The Mecca of Wisdom and Progress," replied the LOBOnian Chancellor in a telephoned interview. "We decided that demonstrating our military capacity to strike from the skies or unseen from the forests would serve as a warning not to start farming soybeans and corn -or something equally lame."

"It’s for their own good,” he continued. "Now if you will excuse me, I have to chainsaw down this tree so's I can get our bomber back."

Sin, Sex, and Sunday Night Football

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Come in!” I says swinging the door open wide. “Good to see you guys!”

“Thanks LOBO,” Jessica says stepping inside. Eric hands me a bottle of wine with a ribbon tied around it. “This is for you and Terri. We heard you two were moving to California.”

“Oooh fancy,” I says, reading the label. “How’ve you been? And where have you been? We haven’t seen you guys in ages.”

“Jessica and I have been going to church a lot,” says Eric.

“Well that explains it then.”

“How come you haven’t been going?” asks Jessica.

“Terri is there now,” I reply. "That counts, right?"

Jessica scowls. “You don’t go?”

“I just went last year, remember? There was a full-on sermon about some guy.” I set the bottle on the table and gesture for them to sit. Easing back in the recliner, I check the Redskins score. “Besides, despite all my prayers God apparently hates my Fantasy Football team. We’re 1-and-2. I’m kinda thinking maybe I should lay low for a while.”

At that exact moment, Terrell Owens nimbly slipped through a thick defense and scored a touchdown.

Subtly wiping back a tear I says, “So what triggered all this new interest in religion?”

Eric’s eyes get a little evasive.

“We were,” Jessica hesitates, “having some marital issues.”

“Really?”

“But we’ve been getting counseling,” says Eric. He smiles at Jessica, and clasps her hand. “It’s been really great for us.”

“I’ll bet,” I concur. “Probably the best thing for you. And I hear it’s a sin if a wife doesn’t submit to her husband’s –eh, desires.”

Jessica goes fire truck red.

Eric squirms. ‘We’ve, uh, learned to come to terms and respect one another.”

“Well it must save you two a lot of foreplay,” I affirm. “Take your pants off bitch, or I’m tellin’ Jesus!”

Just So You Know ...

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Once again -at great expense to you- Predator Press scienticans have stepped up to answer the burning question on everyone's mind: What are the origins of the month of October?

"October" is a smooshed-together Latin word, combining 'octo' which means eight-armed and 'ber' which is short for bear that eats Greyhound busses and pagans.

The Latinos were a notoriously lazy people that abbreviated virtually everything they possibly could.

The Westward Ho Bag

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Yes, it is true that Terri and I are indeed are headed to California.

I mentioned it before on this blog.

But I have also mentioned conspiring with space aliens for the overthrow of Humankind, indestructible fusion-powered robotic ex-girlfriends, and a dragon that plays spectacular Scrabble.

-If you weren’t taking me seriously then, I don’t think you people will take anything seriously.

I must say a tearful goodbye to my beloved Pianosa.

I will miss this place.

My initial reaction was what some people might call a bit selfish: If I can’t continue to enjoy Pianosa, why should anyone else?

I figured by nuking Pianosa to smithereens and starting Pianosa II in California, I would be doing everyone a favor.

-It is, after all, the most practical course of action. Instead of moving, I could just collect the insurance money and start all over with brand new stuff!

Unfortunately, some of my favorite people live in Pianosa I.

Bastards.

I would like to assure the following “former Pianosians” that they will not be burned to cinders:

1) Dantheinventoryman: Oh man, if anyone deserves to be burned to cinders, it’s you.

But I also intuitively know you would somehow survive the radioactive fallout and find us.

You are a map slut, and billions and billions of phone books would have to be recalled and reprinted to correct your reckless and wanton geographical infidelity.

Well I like trees, and I will have no part of this.

2) HST: I’ve been a member of the band Hot Sauce Tamales for over two years now. We do Red Hot Chili Peppers cover tunes backwards-masked with Satanic messages on six rubber bands stretched to varying lengths, an oscillating weed-whacker and a slide whistle.

Way ahead of our time.

We were far and away the most innovative music space-age polymers, a two-stroke engine, latex and Spandex could possibly provide.

The people just weren’t ready for us yet.

3) Ethan: Far and away the person I’ve least fantasized about killing with an ice pick. What am I going to do without my oldest, dearest friend and mentor?

[*sniff*] And what will I do with this ice pick?

Anywho, soon I’ll be engaged simultaneously in the three most hideous and horrible experiences ever known: moving, applying for jobs, and taking acting classes.

I'm taking acting classes are just in case I can't get any other type of work.

-But I sure hope Pianosa II has a Space Program.

Predator Press: Exposed!

Predator Press

[Bill Curtis]

We’ve all watched the meteoric rise of Predator Press in the lucrative field of blogging, and the vast, glorious empire founded on this historic document by Ethan and LOBO.

But what do we really know about the origins of Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to go deep inside the seedy underbelly of what might be the most popular blog in the universe: Predator Press.

And what we found may shock and horrify you.


***

By appearance, Flandsa Ha’asasanba might have seemed like any other immigrant worker. When he arrived on Ellis Island with only eight dollars in his pocket, he was in pursuit of the American Dream: to work honest and hard until he encountered a situation where he could sue someone, thusly retiring in style and with a steady flow of Disability checks.

But Flandsa Hasasanba had an unrecognized talent for both turnip farming and writing; in his battered suitcase was a 600 page manuscript entitled The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

What do these seemingly disparate events have to do with Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to explore the strange twist that would entwine the dark fate of Flandsa Ha’asasanba to it forever.


***

June 6, 2003

LOBO, reputedly trying to peek up the dress of “that great big chick holding the torch,” found himself stranded on Ellis Island without the eight dollars required to ride the ferry back.

Time wore on. With a flowing unkempt beard and clothes reduced to frayed tatters, he spent the entire two hours demanding to speak to ‘Ellis’ to no avail.

Flandsa Hasasanba –who spoke no English- only smiled politely as LOBO barked madly. In turn -concluding quickly that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was one of those “Special People”- LOBO decided that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was safer as his own 'personal assistant' than he was wandering the dangerous and uncharted regions of greater New York City.

“Look at that, Friday,” said LOBO, pointing to the nearby coast with a large piece of driftwood.

“Flandsa,” Flandsa Ha’asasanba corrected smiling.

“Friday, you know I hate it when you interrupt me,” says LOBO. “Listen. Someday we are going to get off this rock. I promise you. As God as my witness, we will see civilization again!”

Flandsa Hasasanba grinned. Whatever this American hobo was saying, he certainly seemed very animated about it. Hungry, he pulled out his eight dollars and got in line behind other tourists at the hot dog stand.

-Flandsa Ha’asasanba woke several hours later with nothing but a headache, a piece of broken driftwood, and shattered hopes and dreams.

So just what happened on that fateful day of June 6, 2003?

I'm Bill Curtis.

Stay tuned.




***

This mystery might have died out completely had LOBO not emerged that very next year and started publishing on Predator Press.

-Publishing things that were raising some eyebrows.

It seems that numerous Predator Press posts bear a remarkable resemblance to Flandsa Ha’asasanba's opus The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

Obesrve the following excerpt from Flandsa Ha’asasanba's work:

"The turnip (Brassica rapa var. rapa) is a root vegetable commonly grown in temperate climates worldwide for its white, bulbous taproot. Small, tender varieties are grown for human consumption, while larger varieties are grown as feed for livestock."

-And compare it to the following uncannily similar Predator Press quote:

"Fat tourists should not tan in temperate climates worldwide. Their pasty, white bulbous flesh should not be exposed to human eyes under any circumstances. The really fat fucks should be used strictly as livestock."

-It's almost as if all the nouns and verbs have been simply erased, and replaced at random.

The similarities are unmistakable.

So did Flandsa Ha’asasanba, a clearly insane and homicidal turnip-farming immagrant prodigy, murder LOBO and steal his blog and identity?

I'm Bill Curtis.

And we may never know.